New Shoes
by kittykatloren
Summary: He knew that hand; he had felt its touch so many times, warm and comforting, and yet it felt so different. It was so small against him.  FE10 Radiant Dawn; Sothe/Micaiah oneshot.


**A/N: **The overdone, cliche scene of Sothe and Micaiah's reunion. I think it's canon; if not, I apologize. Please leave a review, and enjoy!

**Words: **1376  
**Characters:** Sothe, Micaiah  
**Time: **Between_ Path of Radiance_ and_ Radiant Dawn_  
**Genre:** Drama/Friendship

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

* * *

Harsh grit wore into the palms his feet. His shoes, though different from the ones he had last used to tread these familiar streets, were already ragged and broken, even though they had once been a nice pair that General Ike's military outfitter had bought for him during the war. After months of heavy use, they were nearly disintegrated on his feet, water and sun and wear in equal measure destroying the leather. With each step, he felt the stones of the alleyways of Nevassa a little more clearly.

For some reason, though the sights and smells of home bombarded his mind, filling his consciousness with the realization that he had returned here with his mission unfinished, all he could was wonder where his next pair of shoes would come from.

Before the war, she had bought him nice ones as he grew. But now, it seemed, Sothe was back to where he began. Alone in Nevassa, preparing to steal his next pair of shoes. He had spent all his earnings from the war on travel, trying to find her. Without ever remaining in one place, he had never been able to find work or coin.

The alleyway grew narrower and narrower as he walked. He could stretch out his arms and touch the walls of the rickety houses around him. He hadn't been able to do that last time he was here. Dim, muted voices lingered in air. A few lamps were lit in the higher windows. The pale light cast a flickering, eerie glow over the path he was treading, and it reminded him of her magic.

As he turned a corner, he saw the remnants of his favorite hiding place. He would come here when he was running from whoever he'd stolen from, or even in some cases, the soldiers they'd called in to find him. No one found him here. No one except her.

Distractedly he touched the narrow entrance, the crack in the walls between a two sloppily conjoined buildings. He doubted he would fit in there anymore. But he didn't have the will to find out. Moving forward, nearly tripping over the slipping soles of his shoes, Sothe turned down the next alley – and stopped dead in his tracks.

This was the place where he had first met her.

Two men stood with their backs to him. One was middle-aged, tall and strapping, the other thinner, but still steady on his feet. A light of some kind – magic, a fallen torch? – glimmered in front of them at their feet. As he drew closer to them, his hand tight around the hilt of his dagger, the light ahead grew brighter, silhouetting another figure, that of a young woman.

Her hair glowed silver in the moonlight.

Sothe started to run without consciously deciding to do so. It couldn't be – it was too easy – and nothing in his life had ever been easy.

"_She's a witch!_"

"It's her! The one the soldiers want – with that magic – get her!"

"Please – I only wanted to help you. I only wanted to help your son."

"You healed without staves! It's unnatural! You could have done anything to him! Witch!"

"I'm sorry… I do not want to hurt you."

He was mere strides away from the group now. He saw the younger man grab the old man and push him out of the way, then he drew a blade of his own and advanced towards the girl on the ground. He had to step over something to do so – a body, a boy's body. The boy groaned and crawled out of the way.

The man with the knife roared and raised his blade.

In that moment, many things happened at once.

Just and knife dived towards the girl's throat, Sothe ran headfirst into the man's back, slamming him to the ground. The girl's hand had flown into the air with a burst of warm, bright light, sending the other man flying down the alley. She jumped to her feet and covered Sothe's back as he knocked the man unconscious with a fist to the forehead. But he continued to sit on the man's knees, breathing hard, too stunned to turn around.

A trembling hand came to rest on his shoulder. He knew that hand; he had felt its touch so many times, warm and comforting, and yet it felt so different. It was so small against him. He heard a rustle of clothing as she knelt beside him. Her hands moved to his face and slowly – ever so slowly – turned his face around.

Golden eyes, filled with tears, met his gaze. Her silver hair tangled and swirled about her face. She said nothing, merely touched him; she traced her hand from his mussed hair to his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. Sothe saw in her the same kindness, the same love, as he had seen the very first time they had met. The only difference in her appearance was a strange look of shame.

"Oh, Sothe," she said at last. "I'm sorry, Sothe. I'm so, so sorry."

And she pulled him to her, tightly, her face buried in his shoulder. With a shock, Sothe realized – he was bigger than her now. She was like a child in his arms. Hesitantly he rubbed his hands over her back, threaded his hands into her hair, trying to comfort her despite his shaking limbs.

"Why, Micaiah?" he asked into her hair. "Why did you leave me? I spent three years looking for you! Three years alone, and you – I wasn't there to protect you for all that time!"

She gave a tiny, half-hearted laugh, shaking her head. "I thought… it was me, protecting you all this time, and yet… when you were gone, I felt…"

"I found you," Sothe murmured. "I'm just… glad I found you."

Behind them, the unconscious man began to stir. Micaiah took Sothe's hand and together they darted down the alley, stopping in front of Sothe's old hideout. With a deep breath, Micaiah slipped inside first, and Sothe, praying he had not grown too much after all, followed her. Only by ducking and walking sideways could he make it the wider space between the two buildings where Micaiah waited. She sat cross-legged, her robes fanned around her legs, her eyes on the floor. Sothe sat in front of her and mimicked her position, their knees touching.

"Oh," she said softly. "Sothe, your shoes… You need new shoes."

He glanced down at his peeling soles, his worn leather shoes. He couldn't help a small smile. Of course she would say that.

She reached toward him and laid her gloved hand on his knee. Carefully she pulled the glove off, revealing a strange mark, like a tattoo, a swirling, elegant shape covering the back of her hand. She whispered now, her voice quivering. "I'm Branded, Sothe. It means… I have laguz blood in my veins as well as beorc. I don't… grow older… like most beorc. I don't belong to either race… laguz fear me, and beorc… if they knew about the mark…" She glanced up at him, the ashamed look on her face again. "I was afraid to hurt you, Sothe. Beorc don't associate with people like me. You would be an outcast if seen with me… You would be appalled by what I am… I was so, so scared of hurting you. I thought you would be better off if we were apart."

With light fingers, Sothe traced the lines of the mark. Then he looked back at her face, unchanged from the face in his memory of three years ago. "Never again," he said firmly. "We'll never be apart again, Micaiah. I swear it. _Never_."

She just smiled and moved so that they were sitting side-by-side. With a small, tired sigh, she leaned her head against Sothe's shoulder. He put his arm around her and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Her voice murmured through the air.

"Tomorrow… I will buy you a new pair of shoes."


End file.
